


ABCs of DWP

by chainofclovers



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:08:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3998440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chainofclovers/pseuds/chainofclovers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>These are super old (sorry!) drabbles written for the ABC's of DWP challenge back in 2009. I don't much trust LJ so I figured I'd better keep bringing things over to this site.</p>
    </blockquote>





	ABCs of DWP

**Author's Note:**

> These are super old (sorry!) drabbles written for the ABC's of DWP challenge back in 2009. I don't much trust LJ so I figured I'd better keep bringing things over to this site.

Title: A Careful Study  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Antique  
Word Count: 250  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

Miranda isn’t the type to say cute, self-deprecating things like “I’m an antique!” whenever she’s reminded of her age. If her back hurts, or she has to dash upstairs for her glasses before she can read whatever newspaper article Andrea thrusts in her face, she doesn’t crack a joke about it. She can’t.

She doesn’t mind everything about aging. She still has a nice ass and she knows it, and she’s finally achieved a level of personal dignity to match the color of her hair, which has been “dignified” for a couple of decades. But she’s confounded by the way her face seems to be getting sharper and more slack all at once. That death stare, the one that sends her employees cowering in the halls? She can easily turn it on herself. And she does, nearly every morning as she stands in front of the mirror.

One morning, she’s startled out of deep self-scrutiny by a loud rap on the bathroom door. “Miranda? You almost done? I’m going to be late and I have to grab my makeup.” Andrea doesn’t wait for a response before she opens the door, and she appears startled when she realizes Miranda hasn't gotten out her own makeup, or even gotten in the shower yet. Instead of asking what’s the matter, Andy wraps her arms around Miranda from behind, her hands snaking a path from torso to breasts to jawline to cheeks, and presses a long wet kiss to the back of her neck.

\-----

Title: Safety of Defeat  
Rating: R  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Bereft  
Word Count: 222  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

She didn’t realize just how deprived she had felt until Andrea came back. Her ringing phone roused her from fitful sleep, and she answered it without saying a word.

“Miranda? Are you there? Please let me in, I’m outside.”

Disoriented and too tired to argue, Miranda stumbled downstairs, unlatched the door, and felt the ache of loss flood through her even as Andrea rushed forward, hugging her and kissing her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Miranda,” she whispered over and over. “I was scared.”

Miranda wanted to say First Paris, and now this? but they’d promised not to use their bad behavior in Paris (Miranda’s betrayal of Nigel, Andrea’s betrayal of Miranda) as leverage in arguments anymore. It wasn’t healthy, and somehow that unhealthiness was deemed off limits while a thousand others thrived. Instead of saying anything, she turned and walked toward the stairs, stretching her hand out behind her. Andrea took it, murmuring “thank God” as they trudged up the stairs together.

They didn’t fuck on Andrea’s first night back—they were both too tired and shaky and off for any of that. Miranda sat on the bed and watched Andrea as she undressed and put on a pair of Miranda’s pajamas, the ones she always favored on the nights she stayed over. Later, lying in Andrea’s arms, a week of loneliness lapped at Miranda’s relief like a persistent flame.

\-----

Title: Fixation  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Clavicle  
Word Count: 126  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

Neither of them would ever forget that the first time Miranda said “I love you,” she said it to Andy’s clavicle. The words were directed at the entirety of Andy’s being, not just that particular bone, though her clavicle was certainly worth loving: it was delicate and smooth, not too prominent, but noticeable to anyone who wanted to look. Miranda, of course, wanted to look very much. And touch. And kiss. For weeks now, she’d been stroking it with her fingertips and lips and tongue. Resting her head against it as she was falling asleep. Imagining it during meetings, in the car, on the nights she spent alone.

It was the perfect shape for all of that, and the perfect place to receive a mumbled truth.

\-----

Title: Cred  
Rating: G  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda (suggested)  
Prompt: Discordant  
Word Count: 248  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

Caroline never turned the volume on the stereo all the way up, but Cassidy was different, and recently, she’d decided she was into metal and hardcore. Cassidy’s side of the room already resembled a mosh pit, with its piles of laundry, art projects, crumpled paper and stacks of CDs, and now the entire room sounded like one. For the last several nights, their mother had come to their room around ten to make Cassidy turn the music down, and Caroline was always relieved when the discordance stopped. Tonight, Cassidy’s fingers raced to the volume knob as soon as they heard the expected knock on the door, but the face peeking through the door frame wasn’t Miranda’s at all. It belonged to their mother’s former assistant, the last one they’d bothered to trick before deciding they were way too mature for pranks. A year had gone by since they’d seen her.

“Hey, guys!” she said brightly.

“What are you doing here?” Cassidy asked rudely, though Caroline knew she was genuinely interested.

“I’m, ah, just hanging out with your mom, and when I heard…Korn, is it?—“ Cassidy nodded. She’d decided to go “old school” with some ‘90s stuff tonight. “—I knew I had to give you this. These guys are way better. I mean…way edgier.” The woman—Andy, right—held out a CD, and Caroline leapt up to take it from her when Cassidy didn’t move.

“Thanks,” Cassidy said, raising her eyebrows in Caroline’s direction. _Just hanging out_?

\-----

Title: Missing Out  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Enchant  
Word Count: 222  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

It made Andy endlessly angry to realize, over a year and a half after leaving Runway, that seeing Miranda in the street still made her heart pound. There were far, far more important things to worry about than how Miranda was doing and what Miranda thought of her. A few years ago, she would have defined those important things as the issues she chose to highlight in the campus newspaper, the topics she wanted to write about as a career. She was smarter than that now. She knew that plenty of people in this world—in New York, even, not only in the “third world” or in war-torn countries—were struggling for survival with more desperation than she could ever hope to understand.

A large part of her was firmly convinced that Miranda knew that too. That hovering somewhere above—or below, maybe—all the coffee and earrings and glossy paper was a mind that was sharp and good and lovely. The thought of missing out on that made her angry, too—almost as angry as she felt when she thought about how they’d never gotten the chance to have sex, or to fight, or to really listen to each other. Miranda entered the Elias-Clarke building before she could see Andy, and Andy knew she was never going to stop seeing Miranda.

\-----

Title: All the Credit  
Rating: PG  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Fate  
Word Count: 250  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

Andy was shocked the first time she logged onto her Mirror email account and saw Miranda Priestly’s name in her inbox. Tell me what you think of this article, the email said, followed by a link to a PDF. No salutation, nothing personal—which was not in line with Miranda’s usual correspondence style, Andy knew that much for a fact. Miranda’s professional emails were clipped and to-the-point, but she subscribed religiously to the rules of online etiquette. Clearly, Andy’s response was going to have to be outstandingly smart.

She couldn’t figure out quite when she’d started including details from her life in her weekly or twice-weekly emails but if Miranda didn’t like it she never mentioned anything. She kept providing Andy with essays and stories, and Andy continued to respond with the feverishness she used to approach her own articles.

 _Maybe this break-up was fated_ , Andy wrote, wondering even as she typed the words into the text box if Miranda was going to decide she was too clichéd to write to anymore. _Maybe Nate and I just weren’t meant to be together_. She hit send before she could chicken out.

Miranda responded only a few hours later. _My God. Give yourself—and if not yourself, your choices—a little more credit than that_.

She was right, and when they started to talk on the phone, and to meet up for drinks, and to kiss in the car on the way home, that wasn’t fate either. Those were choices well chosen.

\-----

Title: Runaway Train  
Rating: PG  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Gravity  
Word Count: 249  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

“Ms. Priestly, you must understand the gravity of the situation.” The nurse’s voice was tinny over the phone. “Your father really is very sick, and going in and out of consciousness. There may not be much time.”

“I understand perfectly well,” Miranda snapped.

“He’s asking for you. I’m sorry to be the one to call, there wasn’t anyone—”

“I told you I would do what I can.” Miranda’s eyes fell closed as she clicked the phone shut.

She felt the air in the room shift as Andrea crept closer and sat next to her on the sofa. She didn’t open her eyes until she felt Andrea take her hand. “I’m sorry,” Andrea whispered.

“A turn for the worse, obviously,” Miranda hated the bitterness in her voice. She’d already deprived her children of a grandfather, and now she was hearing herself deprive that man of what was, apparently, the sole dying wish intelligible among his delirium. Her father deprived her of plenty of things when they were both perfectly alert, but…

“Do you think you should be there?” Andrea was obviously trying not to push.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“I could go with you,” Andrea offered.

“I can’t take an assistant along to watch my father die.” Well. She wasn’t going to spare a soul today, was she? Hate, hate.

“I’m a lot more than your assistant.” Andrea’s voice held an appropriate amount of hurt and disgust, but she didn’t let go of her hand.

“I know.”

\-----

Title: Bad Connection  
Rating: PG  
Pairing: None  
Prompt: Homesick  
Word Count: 250  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

Miranda’s call history showed twenty-seven outgoing calls for that day alone, eighteen of them to Andrea Sachs, her _former_ assistant. Miranda couldn’t imagine anything more humiliating—other than being left at the Place de Concorde like a jilted groom at the altar—than the sight of Andrea’s missed call list. She hoped that wherever Andrea had run off to, she wasn’t looking at that desperate row of eighteen Mirandas.

Come to think of it, the others receiving Miranda’s calls hadn’t been particularly pleased to speak with her, either. Sure, they’d answered right away, but they’d all seemed tired, and willing but not eager to please. Now, sitting in her hotel suite, Miranda badly needed to call someone who would be happy to hear her voice.

Years ago, before a trip to Paris, she’d taught her girls how to count the hours of the time difference. “Isn’t it funny?” she’d said. “When you’re eating your dinner, I’ll be sleeping. And when New York is in the middle of the night, I’ll be starting my day.”

Tonight, she wasn’t going to breathe a word about the divorce or Andrea or her headache. She wasn’t going to warn them of any of the awful things to come. She was just going to treat herself to hearing their simple, unsuspecting happiness.

Caroline answered the phone. “Hi, Mom?”

“Hi, Caroline.”

“It’s getting kind of late here—it must be really late in Paris. Are you homesick?”

“Yes, darling.” That was one way of putting it.

\-----

Title: Speak Loudly and Leave the Big Stick Home  
Rating: R  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Inept  
Word Count: 217  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

Within twelve hours of arriving in Cincinnati, Miranda managed to forget until the smoke detector went off about the cake Andy’s mother had asked her to take out of the oven; insult Teddy Roosevelt, who happened to be Andy’s father’s all-time favorite historical figure; step on Mr. Fluffers the cat while wearing Manolo Blahniks; and drop a glass pitcher of lemonade all over the kitchen floor.

That night, Andy returned from brushing her teeth in the bathroom to find Miranda lying facedown in bed. “Why the fuck did I even mention Teddy Roosevelt?” came her muffled voice. “I don’t think I’ve thought about him—much less ranted about him—in fifteen years. Make it twenty. Oh God. Oh God. This has been the worst day of my entire life.”

Andy laughed softly. “Now you know how I felt during my first two months at Runway. They’ll get over it, and so will you. If it makes you feel any better, my mom thinks Teddy Roosevelt was a douchebag, too.”

Miranda’s head snapped up. “I did not use the word ‘douchebag’ to describe him, I merely—”

“I know, I know. But the sentiment’s the same. He really was a jingoist douchebag. Now, love, take off your shirt so I can start making your day a little better.”

\-----

Title: The Dish  
Rating: G  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Juicy  
Word Count: 250  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

Cassidy was only four pages into the latest _People_ magazine when she heard Andy’s unmistakable footsteps getting louder and louder. She sighed. School had been exhausting, and she was really hoping for a quiet afternoon of snacking at the kitchen table and catching up on the mindless gossip she swore she didn’t care about whenever the rest of the family teased her. Andy didn’t tease her quite as much as her mom and Caroline, but she was always around—she never seemed to know when to back off and give Cassidy some time alone.

A second later, Andy appeared at the kitchen door. She grinned at Cassidy, her smile growing wider when she noticed Cassidy’s snack. Cassidy didn’t have to wonder what was going on for long: Andy looked deliberately from the orange juice to the magazine to the bowl of strawberries and back to the magazine again. “Juicy,” Andy said, cracking up. “This whole scene is very juicy.”

OK, it was official. Cassidy’s mother had fallen in love with the biggest dork in the entire universe. Andy was the first to admit it, and was quite fond of saying “I’m probably the nerdiest person your mom has ever dated,” like it made her proud.

“That was the worst joke I’ve heard in my whole life,” Cassidy said seriously.

Still, she couldn’t hold back her smile when Andy stole a strawberry, sat down on the edge of the table, and asked, “So, Brangelina? Anything juicy going on? Tell me everything.”

Title: Proximity  
Rating: PG  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Kiss  
Word Count: 250  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

They’re in trouble, though there’s a perfectly good reason why they’re sitting so close together on the sofa in Miranda’s study. Andy had been dictating Miranda’s comments on photos from a recent shoot; they’d run out of time at Runway, so they had to work here, late, and Andy needed to be able to see the photographs in question. But they’ve been done for over a minute and neither has moved. To move first would be to acknowledge that there’s something uncomfortable about their bodies being so close, but the problem isn’t only awkwardness and how to delay its communication. They’re both exhausted and lonely, and they know that about each other.

“You look miserable,” Miranda observes, for once using words instead of lingering eyes to address Andy’s appearance.

Andy answers with a wan smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to, it’s been such a long—”

“None of that,” Miranda interrupts, petulant. “You’re boring when you’re apologetic. You’ve been like this since we got back from Paris.”

“Fine. I’m miserable. You’re miserable, so everyone else is too.” Her voice shakes with the terror of saying in December what she’s wanted to say since October but didn’t because Miranda let her come back.

Miranda is silent, so Andy continues, wordless this time. It isn’t a far journey for her head to bend toward Miranda’s shoulder, to place a kiss there and breathe in perfume and a longing for sleep. They stay like that, still and quiet, for a long time.

\-----

Title: Safe from Harm  
Rating: R  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Letter  
Word Count: 249  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

From time to time, Andy’s articles generated some activity in the “Letters to the Editor” section of _The Mirror_ , but she’d never had a problem with anonymous mail, certainly not of a threatening variety. That changed after the paper published her series on Planned Parenthood. She’d interviewed medical professionals, volunteers, patients, and a group of right-to-lifers who protested outside the center nearly everyday. The first couple of pieces of mail arrived at her apartment, scrawled with “baby-killer” and other typical epithets, and she brushed them off with characteristic aplomb. Her reporting had been fair and measured.

When a letter addressed to “Andy Sachs c/o Miranda Priestly” arrived at the townhouse, she started to get scared. _I know all about you, bitch_. She doubted that, but it was true that someone knew a whole hell of a lot more than made her comfortable. Miranda’s divorce wasn’t final yet; no one aside from Andy’s closest friends, Miranda’s daughters, and a couple of people at Runway had been told about their relationship, which wasn’t exactly a done deal, a steady thing.

Andy was near tears when Miranda handed her the letter. “I’m so sorry, Miranda. I’m putting you and the girls in a terrible position.”

“Nonsense. We’ll take precautions against this…zealot, but none of this is your fault. Your story was excellent.” Miranda wrapped her arms around Andy and kissed her forehead.

Miranda didn’t typically inspire feelings of safety in people, but in that moment Andy felt very, very far from danger.

\-----

Title: Nightcap  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Mayhem  
Word Count: 250  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

Sometimes people who are lonely or newly single or who need to feel needed start volunteering, serving meals at a shelter or bathing stray dogs. Maybe they occupy their hands with a craft project, producing scarves and potholders to be given as gifts. Others get a cat.

Miranda gets an Andrea, and Andrea gets a Miranda. For companionship. For, quite literally, getting to sleep at night. Andrea comes over late, after the girls have gone to bed, almost nightly. They sit in the kitchen drinking whiskey nightcaps, which they probably shouldn’t do, and crawl into bed together.

In bed they take a quick moment to decide whose day was worst, and that person gets to be spooned that night. They’ve each been having a lot of bad days lately--tense meetings, _Mirror_ and _Runway_ deadlines, burnout, utter mayhem--but the time they spend holding versus being held evens out pretty well. They’re generous, at least when it comes to awarding “worst day” to the one who needs it most.

Andrea falls asleep right away on her worst days. She’s the one who must get up extra early to sneak out, but she never seems to worry about that when Miranda’s arms are around her and Miranda’s lips are as close to her neck as they can be without turning the closeness into a kiss. Miranda stays awake as long as she can on her worst days, because she doesn’t see the point in sleeping through her only calm among chaos.

\-----

Title: Exile  
Rating: M  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Narrow  
Word Count: 160  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

It’s gotten to the point where just entering a public restroom—at the movie theater, in a bar, and certainly at work—reminds her of Miranda’s fingers everywhere at once, of tongues and teeth, of making Miranda come. It isn’t that having sex standing up in a cramped stall, listening for intruders, and having to stay quiet is their idea of good atmosphere; it just happens. Over and over. Other places—marriage beds, workspaces, couches, to name a few—aren’t available (or safe, or ready for them) all that often.

It’s as if she and Miranda are in exile from the entire world save for those narrow little rooms, painted in such an array of hideous colors, scrawled with such unsavory messages. Public bathrooms are like tiny, ugly, free hotels. They have their downsides, but when the upsides are Miranda gasping helplessly and kissing Andy’s breasts and whimpering apologies for every wrong she’s ever done, Andy can overlook many inconveniences.

\-----

Title: Diligence  
Rating: PG  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Oil  
Word Count: 249  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

“Burning the midnight oil,” Andy muses aloud, almost surprised to hear her own voice after an hour of virtual silence. She glances up from her computer to see if Miranda has heard her. Miranda is at her desk and Andy is at the nearby table, but when they work late like this they stay in their own worlds.

“What was that?” Miranda responds awkwardly late.

“Burning the midnight oil,” Andy repeats. “I’ve always thought that was such a pretty phrase.”

“More poetic than the thing itself.”

“Really? I kind of like this. I like what I’m writing about.”

Miranda smiles. She’d been surprised when Andy suggested that they work in the same place sometimes on late nights. She can’t imagine Stephen managing a portfolio from the little table in her Runway office, but this works. She stands up, and goes to sit next to Andy at the table. “Want to get going soon?”

“Mm, I should probably try to hammer out a few hundred more words. Maybe thirty minutes?”

There’s no one waiting for them at home—the girls are with their father—and who would she be to say “no” to more time at the office? She’s tempted to distract Andy with kisses, but hesitates when she sees that Andy has already turned her attention back to the screen, lips moving slightly as she re-reads what she’s written. Miranda moves to get up, but a hand pressed against her thigh stops her. “Give me a kiss,” Andy says.

\-----

["Specter" - "Thank God You're Up Now" are set in the same universe but are not in chronological order!]

Title: Specter  
Rating: PG  
Pairing: None  
Prompt: Portrait  
Word Count: 250  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

When Cassidy headed to Miranda’s study one evening, her latest charcoal drawing in hand, she didn’t necessarily expect to receive effusive praise. She did imagine her mother would smile a little, and at least say _something_. She certainly didn’t expect her to go gape-mouthed, the color draining from her cheeks.

Finally, Miranda spoke, voice barely audible. “Do you know who that is?”

Cassidy glanced at the face she’d rendered on thick paper. It had been difficult to capture the way the long dark hair fell in waves, and smiles were always tricky. The eyes had been easier; she’d a knack for them. “Yes, your old assistant. I found a photo, just lying on your desk. The angle was perfect, so I scanned it, I wasn’t trying to make you—”

“What were you doing in—” Miranda paused, visibly collecting herself. “It’s an excellent likeness, darling.”

Cassidy took the drawing to her room and set it on the floor near her bed, figuring she’d find it a hiding place after she got back from her friend’s sleepover.

The next morning, bleary-eyed and practically hollow with exhaustion and too much sugar, Cassidy stumbled into her bedroom. “Mom?” Miranda sat on the floor against the bed, tears streaming down her face. Cassidy didn’t need to see the other side of the paper in her hand to know what it was.

At a loss, Cassidy followed instinct. She knelt beside her mother, stretching out her arms. Miranda filled them, still clutching the portrait.

\-----

Title: A Steady Path  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairing: Miranda/OMC  
Prompt: Queasy  
Word Count: 250  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

Miranda nudged her husband awake. “John…I have to tell you something. Now.”

His eyes snapped open, immediately alert. He was still a little scared of her, though she wished it wasn’t so. “What is it?”

Miranda took in a shallow breath. Best to be blunt. “I’m pregnant.”

She caught the reverent way he said “Oh my God, Mir, that’s wonderful!” and was able to smile at the delight in his face before slipping back into her thoughts.

Her body was ready for this baby, and had been for months. No more stealing Nigel’s cigarettes the week before deadline, no more pills or lines of anything at parties, not even so much as a drop of wine with dinner or anywhere else.

She wanted it—the baby—very much, but she still had something to give up. A secret, a lovely problem that made sacrificing a high or a buzz seem easy by comparison. She couldn’t explain to John that she needed to think about women to fall asleep at night, to enjoy sex, to stay good at her job. Nothing had ever happened, or would happen: her reveries were strictly that. Still, she would have liked to embark on motherhood free from the embarrassing burden of fantasy. Free from wondering how it would feel to walk down the street hand in hand with another woman.

John tentatively stroked her stomach. He was very handsome, radiant with the news and early sunlight. She told herself her nausea was only morning sickness.

\-----

Title: Some Circles  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Rumor  
Word Count: 250  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

Andy studied Nigel as he made his way back to their table. He’d seemed a little distant all night, and now his expression was practically somber. Strange for a bar night, one of the few they’d managed to schedule since Andy had started at _The Mirror_.

“I heard a rumor,” he said quietly as he sat down on his stool, pushing a martini at Andy.

“Oh?” Andy sipped her drink. It was cool but it stung.

“About you—” He paused, then whispered “and Miranda.”

“Who told you?” She said the words too quickly, and, easy as that, she’d given it away.

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is your—your safety! She can’t be satisfied, she’ll use you right up. You’re going to get… _burned_.”

Andy frowned at the way he struggled to choose words. “Nigel, stop being so dramatic. I know you’re mad at her but are you really that uncreative? You can’t decide if she’s the Ice Queen or the Dragon Lady, is that it? If she’s frigid or, like, a ravenous nympho? I didn’t think you bought into all that gossip column crap. It’s lazy writing.”

Nigel looked appropriately chagrined. “I don’t. I’m sorry. It’s just—this is so weird.”

“What’s weird?” Andy asked, intentionally dense. She wasn’t going to give Nigel an inch. The myth of the hot-and-cold-middle-aged-bitch was getting really tired. Besides, she satisfied Miranda just fine.

“Nothing.” He sighed. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Sure,” Andy said, torn between disappointment and relief.

\-----

Title: The Exception  
Rating: PG  
Pairing: None  
Prompt: Storm  
Word Count: 238  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

In high school and college, afternoon thunderstorms frequently reminded Andy of her elementary school. All the classrooms had had enormous, dusty windows, and storms darkened the rooms so much that everything inside seemed yellow and dull and warm. Storms had never felt unsafe to her; the tumult outside lent the classroom a coziness.

Oddly enough, the same sensory memory struck her during the first thunderstorm she witnessed at _Runway_. With its high-powered light bulbs and pristine walls, the office wasn’t as affected as a dingy school by the loss of natural light. Still, the storm prompted a marked change in atmosphere. Everyone around her was busy, but for once, the only visible frenzy was outdoors, in the form of thunderclaps and streaks of spindly lightning flashing in every window.

“Emily…”

Andy rushed from her desk to see what Miranda wanted. She took mental notes on a litany of demands: for a meeting to be rescheduled, for the immediate arrival of coffee, for an improved compilation of some haphazardly collected financial data.

“That’s all,” Miranda said. When Andy was almost to the door, a majestic clap of thunder sounded, so loud she jumped.

She almost jumped a second time when she heard Miranda say her name. “Andrea.” The word was soft in the wake of the thunder, and when Andy turned around she saw a slight, lovely smile tease the corners of Miranda’s lips. “I don’t need any coffee.”

\-----

Title: Thank God You’re Up Now  
Rating: R  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Tutor  
Word Count: 319  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.  
A/N: The title of this one comes from the Elvis Perkins song “While You Were Sleeping.”

Miranda loved Andrea, and she loved clothes, and any idiot could see that clothes loved Andrea too. Quite understandably, Miranda wanted all the feelings to be mutual.

She knew Andrea loved her: she said “I love you” all the time, more often than Miranda had ever heard a person say it, and that wasn’t all. Andrea never complained when Miranda kept them both up late the night before an early morning, reading Valerie Steele articles out loud in bed, trying to prove to Andrea that fashion and serious academia could—and did, very effectively—co-exist. In fact, Andrea came up with some rather smart things to say about those articles, and was almost never too tired from the intellectual exertion to have sex, which, pleasantly, served to further reinforce Miranda’s belief that she really did love her very much.

She could tell Andrea _liked_ clothes perfectly well. She had favorite fabrics and prints, understood how to dress her body, was gracious about Miranda’s gifts. But was it love? Not exactly. It was clear that Andrea would never find herself drunk with awe over a particularly lovely skirt.

This was somewhat disappointing to Miranda, until the day she stepped into the bedroom sans make-up, hair wet from the shower, wearing her grey bathrobe, with a hanger in each hand. “What should I wear?” she asked, and Andrea leapt up from the bed.

“Wear this,” she groaned, running her hands over the collar of the robe. “Or maybe this,” she added, pulling the robe open and pushing it down Miranda’s shoulders. As Andrea kissed her neck and pressed warm fingers to her breasts, Miranda lost her grip on the hangers, and couldn’t quite muster any worry about whether or not the dresses they carried would get wrinkled on the floor. They were a little drunk on each other, and it occurred to Miranda that they’d chosen the right things to love.

\-----

Title: Harder  
Rating: M  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Urgency  
Word Count: 164  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

“Harder,” Miranda demanded, voice quiet but firm, as she writhed against Andy’s fingers.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Even saying this, Andy could hear the awe in her own voice, could hear her amazement at lying over Miranda, who was spread out on Andy’s bed, giving herself up completely.

“No, please, I need it. Please.” She grunted with their effort.

Andy worried she was going to replace all of the pleasure with pain, but she gave in to the pleas, praying the roughness was enough and not too much. Miranda didn’t cry out when she came. She whispered “Oh” and closed her eyes and held onto Andy’s wrist, keeping Andy’s fingers in place for a long time.

Later, Miranda reciprocated. She was gentle with Andy: not timid, but delicate and tender in every movement.

Much later, as she pulled the disheveled covers over both their bodies, Andy asked “Are you okay?”

Miranda’s voice shook only slightly when she answered. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

\-----

Title: Curious  
Rating: PG  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda (suggested)  
Prompt: Vocal  
Word Count: 245  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

The lobby of the building containing Miranda’s PR firm has only one elevator—a massive one, with a brass safety handle and a marble floor. Andy and Miranda are the only people around, and even Miranda can see that it would be ludicrous for them to ride up separately.

Once inside, they both stare at the closing doors. Halfway to the correct floor, Miranda breaks the silence. “Good dress,” she says. Andy is stunned; Miranda has never, ever complimented her using words before, and probably never will again. She chalks the statement up to momentary insanity brought on by sharing an elevator for the first time a million years, thanks Miranda under her breath, and tries to prepare a face appropriate for public relations. Miranda’s face doesn’t have to change a bit, but Andy can’t know for sure because she isn’t looking at her.

Later, in the Elias-Clarke cafeteria, Nigel teasingly remarks, “Miranda sure likes that dress.”

Andy almost chokes on her water. “How did you know?”

Nigel looks puzzled. “I saw her checking it out when she got to the office this morning,” he explains slowly, as if Andy is a preschooler or just emerging from a coma. “Wait—what?”

“Nothing,” Andy says quickly. “I just—I noticed that too.”

It’s obvious Nigel doesn’t believe her. He spears a huge forkful of salad and crams it into his mouth. Andy does the same, and they sit there for a good minute, chewing and staring.

\-----

Title: In and Out  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Whisper  
Word Count: 250  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

Dad’s house is always loud. It’s smaller than Mom’s, our baby brother Anthony has colic and cries all the freaking time, and our stepmom, Karen, has this booming Jersey accent.

Mom’s house is so quiet that our friends used to whisper when they came over, but the house has been noisier ever since Andy started hanging around. She and Mom spend lots of time together, and with us, which is weird but nice. It’s almost like they’re best friends or something, but that isn’t true. Even if Andy is Mom’s best friend, Mom isn’t Andy’s—I know because Andy’s best friend Lily also comes over sometimes. She brought Caroline and me amazing felt tip pins, and she’s really funny.

Last night Andy, Lily, and Nigel all came over for dinner. We hadn’t seen Nigel in ages, not since he quit working for Mom. The grown-ups were arguing about some movie Caroline and I haven’t seen, and Andy was really getting into it with Nigel, having fun, but waving her arms around and almost yelling. Mom was nodding, defending her, and suddenly Nigel looked at both of them, rolled his eyes, and said “You dykes.”

His eyes got really big, and the whole room went silent. Everybody stared at Caroline and me until Andy said “Who wants dessert?” She didn’t wait for any answers before she bee-lined it to the kitchen, but Caroline and I aren’t stupid: we both noticed that she squeezed Mom’s shoulder on the way out the door.

\-----

Title: Last to Know  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: X-Ray  
Word Count: 250  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

When Andy and Miranda picked things up with each other about six months after “Paris,” (read: debacle, read: betrayal, read: the week they still can’t talk about without getting very, very angry), the plan was that everything between them was going to be about skin. Flesh. Nerve endings. It wasn’t as big of a leap as either of them expected, going from a rapt interest in how much skin they were each covering up at Runway on any given day to an ever more rapt interest in lying side by side in a darkened room, pleasing that same skin, uncovering and uncovering and uncovering.

They would say that flesh—their flesh, the soft joy of it—remained their primary concern, but people can say that and start eating dinner together on a regular basis, talking on the phone when they can’t meet in person (not just about sex, but about families and beliefs and words), sitting on a sofa next to not-exactly-identical red-haired children, watching (of all the stupid, perfect things) “It Happened One Night.”

People can say that, but it doesn’t change the fact that when Miranda rushed into the hospital room, Andy was already there, holding Cassidy’s good hand. “X-Rays don’t hurt, Mom!” Cassidy said, holding up her heavily bandaged wrist and smiling with the extraordinariness of being injured and getting attention. Miranda kissed both their cheeks, and no one noticed even a ripple of strangeness, the plan’s ultimate ruination.

“Just a bad sprain,” Andy said. “Nothing’s broken.”

\-----

Title: Muffled Truth  
Rating: R  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Youth  
Word Count: 243  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.  
A/N: This angsty little number continues from the “Gravity” drabble.

“I hate my father more than anyone in the world,” Miranda says. It feels good to say the words, the same way rage feels good, when it explodes after a week of smoldering. She glances at Andrea, who looks young and frightened but, to her credit, doesn’t move an inch from her spot, sitting next to Miranda on top of the scratchy hotel bedspread.

“I should get back to the hospital,” she continues, but she lies down on her back instead of getting up.

Andrea doesn’t offer to go with her, but Miranda knows she would go if asked. It would be difficult to take Andrea along without making this bitter goodbye into some kind of scene. She can’t exactly tell the clumsy, stark truth, though it would probably feel good to say that, too: “Father, this is Andrea. She convinced me to drive six hours to get here: she’s a much better person than I am. We’re trying to wait to fuck until she is no longer my employee. I love her, and there is nothing you can do about it. Goodbye forever.”

Her father is unconscious, and even if she were finally ready to say those words, he wouldn’t be able to respond. He might not even comprehend. She hates him for that, too.

Andrea stretches out beside her. She says nothing but her eyes are warm, and she rests a hand against Miranda’s stomach, so light it almost isn’t there.

\-----

Title: Abiding  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairing: Andy/Miranda  
Prompt: Zone  
Word Count: 250  
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

Neither of them are at all fond of prolonged periods of waiting. There’s something to be said for anticipation—for instance, a day spent driven to distraction at the office because the first night of love-making in over a week awaits. On occasion, that sort of delay is perfectly acceptable. But Miranda’s heart hurts when, early one afternoon, Andrea looks at Patricia and says wistfully, “I wish we could just take her for a walk together. Be normal.”

She doesn’t say it to make Miranda guilty. She’s very understanding of their circumstances. By necessity, theirs is a relationship of interiors, of caution. Exteriors—Page Six, the divorce court, Andrea’s still-new work environment—aren’t quite ready for them yet. It doesn’t make waiting for the divorce to be final and for Andrea to establish herself at The Mirror any easier. There are at least six more months before the former happens, and the latter is entirely Andrea’s call. But they love each other, and say in the solace of interiors that they need each other. So, they wait.

One night Miranda sets her alarm for two a.m. without telling Andrea, wakes her up when the beeping starts, and says “Let’s take Patricia for a walk.” She realizes it would be more of a scandal to get caught in the middle of the night than in the middle of the day, but she doesn’t care. The thrill of stepping out of the safety zone—even for thirty minutes—is worth the risk.


End file.
